On my bike by the Lee
Gliding along a surface as smooth as a baby’s bottom, I’m passing from Rochestown to Passage West in Cork without a care in the world.
The sun is shining. Blue skies and fluffy clouds are reflecting off the estuary. Floating along the route of an old railway line, there is no traffic to contend with. The path is wide and straight. It is dotted with benches, cloaked in greenery. By the time I reach Passage, I’m almost emotional. It’s like cycling outside of Vancouver or Copenhagen.
